Poetry Archives

Upon his way to rob a Bank
          He paused to watch a fire;
Though crowds were pressing rank on rank
          He pushed a passage nigher;
Then sudden heard, piercing and wild,
          The screaming of a child.

A Public Enemy was he,
          A hater of the law;
He looked around for bravery
          But only fear he saw;
Then to the craven crowds amaze
          He plunged into the blaze.

How anguished was the waiting spell
          Of horror and of pain!
Then—then from out that fiery hell
          He staggered forth again:
The babe was safe, in blankets wrapt,
          The man flame lapt.

His record was an evil one,
          Of violence and sin.
No good on earth he’d ever done,
          Yet—may he Heaven win!
A gangster he . . . Is it not odd?
         —With guts of God.